


Tithe

by PoetHrotsvitha



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Tam Lin (Traditional Ballad)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Ballad 39: Tam Lin, Crusades, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Retellings, First Time, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pregnancy, Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8113564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetHrotsvitha/pseuds/PoetHrotsvitha
Summary: From the blazing heat of Jerusalem to the wind of the Scottish Cheviot Hills, Rey has followed Master Luke over an ocean. He has promised her the gift of reading, but occupied with border skirmishes, she has largely been left to sew and brood. Restless one morning, she ignores Master Luke's instructions and leaves the castle to explore. Once in Carterhaugh woods, she incurs a debt to a figure trapped between two worlds; although she doesn't know it yet, he is running out of time, and she may be the only one able to bring him back.





	1. Chapter 1

The sliver of sunshine was warm and gentle on her face, the stone of the bench cool on her back. Rey drew the needle through the cloth, repeating the motion for what must have been the thousandth time, coaxing out the pattern that was slowly emerging. Vines curled along the fabric, flowers and leaves twisting out from the stem, her stitches vibrant in red and blue.

Jessika stood behind her, twining her hair into elaborate plaits that wound along her head. “There you are, my lady,” she said, stepping back with a nod.

Rey smiled her thanks, shifting a little closer to the window. In truth, she missed her simple three buns, but Jessika was kind to make the effort.

She put her sewing to her lap. “Any word from Master Luke?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Rey fiddled with the thread. “Right. Thank you.” Suppressing a sigh, she looked back out the window, towards the curtain walls of the castle and the forest that stretched into the horizon beyond.

\---

Her first memories were of sand.

Somewhere, in and amongst the grit and the months of travel, she remembered her parents as well. Mostly as big hands that propelled her along as they walked, pilgrims on the way to the Holy Land.

She reached the holy sepulchre. They did not.

So she imaged herself a changeling without parents, brought into this world by her own pure will and spite, a creature with no moorings to anchor her.

The other members of their convoy completed their pilgrimage and left, but she had nothing to return to. Without a plan, she made a home in the winding streets of Jerusalem; she bartered with travellers, passing along her scraps to Unkar and his wretched shop for precious few _deniers_ in return. She slept under the roof in a storehouse of grain, taking comfort in the tight space and shelter from the heat. She was almost always alone. Living a hand-to-mouth existence didn’t exactly allow for the luxury of trust.

So things might have continued indefinitely, had she not met Master Luke.

\---

Jessika had barely been gone an hour before Rey stiffened her resolve and set her needlework aside. This confinement was unreasonable. Yes, there were skirmishers about. Yes, Master Luke had forbidden her to leave. Yes, she knew nothing of this land and its laws.

But she had journeyed here over gruelling months with the promise of an education at her fingertips, not for needlework and long hours spent waiting while Master Luke fought at the border.

Rey cast another look at Carterhaugh, the trees inviting and the promising glimpse of a pond in the shade.

She would be visible from the castle. She could be back before anyone even noticed her absence. It would be a lovely spot to pour over her new psalter, a precious gift pressed into her hands by Master Luke only a week before. Rather than sitting in her room and squinting in the slats of light allowed by the narrow windows, she could read in the sun, slowly puzzling out the dots and dashes along the page and transforming them into words. Perhaps she could even dip her feet in the water.

Just a little walk. A short wander and no more. Surely no harm could come of that.

\---

When she first met Master Luke he wore a black tunic with a white cross emblazoned on the front. That was back before she knew what it meant; before she knew that it represented his vows of chastity and poverty, his commitment to caring for pilgrims arriving in the city, his belonging to the Order of St John.

She had only meant to ask if he had anything to barter, but he had spotted the swelling bite marks on her ankle and offered to ease her pain.

Rey was suspicious at first. She knew what men usually wanted with young girls, and that allowing that only lead to a babe in the belly and ruin. But the ankle _did_ hurt unbearably.

So she let him help, swearing that she had nothing to offer in return.

He asked for not a thing and treated her with naught but the greatest respect. To her, this was foreign, a curious thing that made him all the more interesting. And then, on the third time when she returned to have her bindings changed, he caught her staring at the Bible on his table.

“Can you read, child?” he asked gently.

She bit her lip and shook her head.

He looked at the book and then back at her, expression thoughtful. “Would you like to?”

\---

It was easy enough to leave the bailey. The majority of the men at arms were away with Master Luke, and the servants were busy about their daily tasks.

Rey edged along the walls, ducking behind corners whenever she heard voices. In another lifetime, she would have wrapped her hair in a scarf, grabbed a basket or pot, and marched out through the kitchens bold as brass.

But her kirtle was far too lovely to pass for servant’s garb now, a soft green that clung to her legs when she moved.

Timing her run as a pair of stable boys left by the front door of the gatehouse, Rey sprinted and hedged through the door just before it closed. Straightening her gown with a proud smile, she stretched her arms and set out at a brisk pace towards the forest.

\---

Rather than tackling a new skill and a new language at once, Master Luke decided that they would start with French.

It was an agonizingly slow process. She would find him in evenings and they would take advantage of the last vestiges of daylight, working through the letters over and over. Many a time Rey wanted to throw her hands up defeat. But Master Luke was patient and persistent, and she gradually began to pick meaning out of the page.

She was finally starting to make some real progress when the summons came for him to return to his country. His efforts were needed for war, the messenger said, for help in quelling the rancorous north.

Rey was bereft. She told herself that it was about losing this skill that she had only so tentatively began to grasp.

The uncomfortable truth, though, was that she had never had a friend before.

Which made it all the more surprising when Master Luke extended an invitation for her to join him. “It’s a bit of a lonely place,” he said. “I could use the company.”

Rey hesitated. Jerusalem was what she knew. But lying in her cramped alcove that night, she decided that for once in her life, she wanted to make a decision not based around fear and self-preservation. She wanted to take a giant leap into the abyss and trust that she would land, safe and sound, on the other side.

Master Luke approved of her reasoning when she explained it. Have faith in the Lord, he advised.

So she went.

The journey was miserable. She hated boats. It was unnatural for human beings to be in the water balanced only on wood, she decided, and it was almost enough to make her regret the entire expedition.

But when they first arrived in his country, the damp wind and rolling grass took her breath away.

Master Luke turned and furrowed his brow when he saw that she was frozen, eyes wide, hands clenched in her kirtle. “Are you well?”

“I never knew there was so much green in the whole world,” she murmured.

That earned her a small smile and a pat on the shoulder.

\---

The lake was just as beautiful up close. She carefully set her book down far away from the edge and took her boots off, lightly stepping into the water, feeling the perfect squelch of mud in between her toes. Holding her chemise and kirtle to her knees, she waded in a little deeper, giving a little splash with a laugh.

So much clean, cool water. It was miraculous.

She glanced around and noticed something that she hadn’t been able to see from the distance of her bower: a glimpse of a rosebush, its flowers larger than any she had ever seen before, beautiful and enticing. She waded back to the shore, wanting a closer look.

Slipping back into her boots and picking up her psalter, she padded towards it, ducking under the bough of a tree.

The roses nearly took her breath away once she was near. They were larger than her hands, full blooms that were somehow robust and delicate at once. The petals looked like they would be soft to the touch, velvety and smooth as silk.

Taking her knife from her belt, she lightly clipped one of the biggest blooms off the bush, bringing it to her nose and taking a deep whiff. It smelled divine, a soft sweetness that dizzied the senses and perfumed her skin. Quickly shaving off the thorns with a smile, she tucked the rose into her hair.

And then, all of the sudden, she was not alone.

It was only years of living in the streets that abruptly warned her of that fact, the hairs along the back of her neck standing in fear. Holding her knife out defensively, she spun around.

He was standing barely three paces away.

It seemed impossible that a man so large could have sneaked up on her without making a sound. He was tall and pale, clothed in black from head to toe, his tunic, leggings and cloak all made from the same dark and soft looking fabric. While not exactly handsome, his features were striking, with black hair that curled around his neck and brushed the tops of his shoulders.

Most disarmingly, his eyes had a yellow tinge to them, clearly visible even from this distance.

“Rey,” he said quietly, the word soft on his tongue.

She took deep breaths, willing her heart to slow and her hands to stop shaking. “How do you know my name?”

He ignored her question. “Why is it that you come here without my leave, to break my boughs and take my roses?”

Rey’s hand lifted to the flower in her hair. “Carterhaugh is not your own,” she said, pleased that her voice came out steady. “And there are many roses.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly at that, silent and cold.

To Rey, it felt like a challenge. So she lifted her chin, her jaw set. “I'll come and go as I please.”

“By Fey law,” he said gravely, looking a bit irritated, “you now owe me a debt.”

“I owe you no such thing.”

It only took two steps for him to close the space between them. God’s teeth, but he was big. When he was this close, she could see that his skin had an almost grey tinge to it, sallow and strange. “It is not for you to dictate law.”

“I don’t--”

The kiss was sudden and disarming, his hands cupping her face to pull her chin upwards. His fingers and lips were cold, the chill seeping into her own skin, making her gasp against his grip. And yet, somehow, she was flooded with heat; the warmth curled in her belly and spread out through her limbs, making her dizzy and lightheaded with longing. She felt her book slip from her hands, landing on the ground with a thump.

He pulled away with a frown at the sound, looking down. Remembering herself, she grabbed the chance to shove him away, sputtering wildly. “How- how dare you--”

“Your debt,” he said simply, still frowning. “Obviously.”

When he reached for her cheek again, she turned and fled, holding her skirts and racing back to the safety of the castle as fast as she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that debt is nowhere NEAR paid. 
> 
> Note on the mildly dubcon warning: because this is a "debt" that she entered into completely unknowingly, there is an element of coercion here. If that makes you uncomfortable, fair enough, and I recommend you steer clear of what comes next. Other than that, everything will be enthusiastically consensual. 
> 
> For an ever so brief period from 1099-1187, The Kingdom of Jerusalem was an (ostensibly) Christian nation. With its exemption from customs charges, there was a roaring trade on selling imports to pilgrims. I imagine Rey as clinging to the underbelly of that business. 
> 
> [**The Knights Hospitaller of St. John of Jerusalem**](https://www.britannica.com/topic/Hospitallers).
> 
> [ **Deniers**](http://www.coinweek.com/ancient-coins/medieval-numismatics-coins-of-the-crusaders/) were a form of currency used in medieval Jerusalem. 
> 
> There are a lot of different versions of the ballad of Tam Lin. I'm playing fast and loose with several of them. [**This is one of the more famous renditions**](http://tam-lin.org/versions/39A.html).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Explicit sexual content. Like, it's most of the chapter. If you want to avoid that, you are probably reading the wrong fic. Also warning for forced orgasm.

It was only after she returned to the keep that she realized she had left her psalter behind.

She fretted over its loss for a day. Pacing back and forth in her rooms, she agonized over her carelessness. That book was years of work bound in beautiful leather, a gift obtained by Master Luke no doubt at great expense.

She would have to retrieve it. There simply was no other option.

When Jessika was plaiting her hair the following morning, she caught Rey’s nervous stare towards Carterhaugh.

“Oh no, my lady,” she said, “you mustn't venture there.”

Rey twisted a little to try and look at Jessika. “Are there raiders?” Could the mysterious man have been one of the skirmishers that Master Luke was fighting?

“Far worse,” Jessika said, turning Rey’s head back sternly so she could continue work on her hair. “Carterhaugh is the realm of Kylo Ren, who lets naught a maid through without taking a gift, a dress, or her maidenhead.”

Rey frowned. “Why has something not been done about this… Kylo Ren?”

“Not much that can be done about the Fey, my lady,” Jessika said, her tone dry as though she were explaining something self-evident. She patted Rey’s hair, putting the last pin in place. “They know they can take whatever they want.”

\---

When Rey returned to the clearing, he was standing at his ease, steady as the trees around him. As if he had nothing to do in the world but wait for her.

“Kylo Ren,” she said slowly.

He inclined his head towards her with a smooth grace entirely out of place in a man so large. Her psalter, she saw, was held firmly in his hand.

She pointed to it. “I’ve returned for that,” she said. “It belongs to me.”

He looked down at the book and then back at her, her gaze searching. “You cannot read it.”

Blanching, she jerked her hand back. How did he know?

“A gift, then. From a lover?”

Did she imagine the jealousy in his tone? She set her jaw. “From my guardian.”

He seemed appeased at that, relaxing slightly. He flipped the pages open. “French. I used to be able to read French, once. I suspect I still am able.”

She swallowed. “What of it?”

“You need a teacher.”

Was he suggesting himself? It was a strange, but tempting, prospect. Master Luke had yet to return; the odds were that he would not be back for many weeks yet. He was the only one within the castle with the ability to teach her.

But apparently, not the only one without.

Kylo Ren held a hand out towards her. “Come here.”

She approached cautiously, nervous that he would grab her again. But his touch on her elbow was gentle; they sank down to sit on the grass, where he opened the book and placed it in her lap. Using his hand to hold it open, he leaned in, the ghost of his breath sliding along her neck and making her shiver. “Show me what you know.”

\---

Soon, she was leaving the castle every day, timing her visits so that she would be back before anyone noticed her absence. Psalter in one hand a small cloth bag with a little bread and cheese in the other, she would march across the fields, steps growing lighter each day.

Her progress was exponential. She was able to recite aloud now, though slowly, stumbling over her words less and less. Kylo Ren would lounge beside her, fingers laced over his stomach, occasionally interjecting to help. He gifted her with a rare small smile when she finished a passage correctly.

His smile was beautiful.

Sometimes, when he was correcting her, she found that she would end up staring at his lips, remembering their cool softness and the heat his kiss ignited in her belly.

One day, he caught her, looking up from the text to find that she was clearly not paying attention to his words. If she was worried that he would be annoyed, she needn't have been; as the blush bloomed on her face, that small smile rose along the corners his mouth.

Then, slowly, he lifted his hand to her face and leaned in to kiss her once more.

This time she responded, curving towards him like a flower opening before the sun. When he opened his lips, she followed, relishing the sensation of being explored.

She had never kissed anyone before. She had barely ever touched anyone before, for as long as she could remember; it was unfamiliar. Heady. Nice.

When she left that afternoon, it felt as though butterflies had made a fluttering home in her chest.

\---

The next time she arrived in the clearing, he was sitting against the base of one of the trees, gnarled roots rippling out beyond his legs. He beckoned her over. When she got close, rather than gesturing her down beside him as normal, he spread his legs and pulled her down between them, tucking her back flush against his chest.

Then he plucked the book from her hands, opened it in her lap, and bade her to continue the same as always.

It was impossible to focus.

She tried to follow the words on the page, but all she could feel was the way his hands laced together around her waist, the way his breath was cool on her neck.

When he pressed his lips to the top of her spine, she completely lost the thread of the passage she had been reading.

If he noticed her trailing off, he said nothing.

As she coughed lightly and tried to resume her recitation, his fingers kept exploring, sliding down her waist and to her hips.

When she drew her legs up a bit protectively, his hands moved to her ankles and gently began to trace circles on the bare skin.

She swore that she could feel sparks where he touched.

Her breathing hitched when his fingers rose a little higher along her legs, suddenly feeling a sweeping surge of panic as that strange heat began to grow again.

“I must go,” she stammered out, snapping the book shut and scrabbling to her feet, nearly tripping over her chemise in the process.

She thought she heard him sigh as she fled.

\---

When Jessika arrived to help her dress the next day, Rey coughed nervously and asked if she would gather some flowers to twine in her hair.

If Jessika thought this strange, she said nothing.

Finding her loveliest green kirtle- the one she had worn on her first walk to Carterhaugh- she steadied her breaths and set out towards the forest.

When he saw her, his eyebrows raised very slightly at her finery.

She walked towards him and settled between his legs, leaning back against his chest, determined to act like nothing was out of the ordinary. As she flipped through the psalter, she felt his fingers run along her braids and the flowers woven within them. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

It could have meant her or the flowers. Perhaps both.

When she started to read, he picked up where he had left off the day before, hooking his hands under her thighs and bending her knees up. His fingers deftly slid upwards from her ankles, along the bare skin of her calves.

She tried to keep her voice steady, reciting the first psalm. His fingers met the cloth of her underthings at her knees and he continued over the fabric, tracing along the underside of her legs.

Her words stumbled when he reached the cleft of her thighs.

It was a place that she had barely explored herself. But her whole body was tingling as his fingers traced that warmth, moving slow circles that made her want to buck her hips. With each movement she had to viciously fight the urge to snap her legs shut, knowing that if she did, he would stop. She didn’t want him to stop.

He suddenly _pressed_ through the fabric and she dropped the book, giving up entirely as he chuckled. Arching her head back against his shoulder, she pushed against his fingers, wanting more.

Her voice had deserted her. She didn't know how to ask. Didn't know what to ask for.

“Was all of this finery for me?” he said, voice low.

She closed her eyes and let out a little whimpering sound.

“I'll understand that as a yes,” he murmured, resuming his stroking. His other hand crept under the side lacings of her kirtle and traced her breast through the thin fabric of her chemise, her nipples hardening against his strokes.

When she leaned into his touch, he swiftly withdrew his hands and lifted her by the waist, turning her and pulling her into another kiss. As she clung to him, he pulled off his cloak with one hand and tugged it away, casting it on the ground behind her.

With more presence of mind, years of self-preservation might have kicked in. She distantly knew that Master Luke would very, very much not approve of what was happening. But she felt starved for touch, desperate for more of that closeness from this dark and strange man, craving what he was able to make her feel. So when he laid her down on the cloak and began unlacing her kirtle, she let out something that was a cross between a happy hum and a sigh, gazing up at the canopy of trees above her. And when his thumbs hooked over the waistband of her underthings, she lifted her hips slightly to let them be dragged off.

Being in just her chemise, sheer as it was, somehow felt more sinful than being fully unclothed. His eyes roved over her and it felt like being touched, a million delicate caresses that reached everywhere at once.  

To her surprise, he pushed up her knee and began to kiss along the inside of it, gently moving upwards along her thigh. She had a vague understanding of what happened in the marriage bed, and she was fairly certain that this was not it; confused, she tried to prop up on her elbows. “Kylo--”

“Don’t fret,” he murmured, giving her another one of those little smiles. “Trust me.”

It was difficult to trust him when she was so very embarrassed, uncertain that his face should be so close to her womanly parts. But as he murmured “beautiful,” his fingers parting the curls between her legs, she found it hard to think clearly. When his mouth lowered to it, she nearly jumped clear in the air in shock, the sensation warm and curious and ever so _good_.

When he began to lick, solid long strokes, followed by tight swirls, she fell back against the cloth with a cry. She could feel the flowers coming loose from her hair as she writhed, the crushed smell of them perfuming the air.  

There was something growing, coiling in her hips, but she didn't know what it was. She ought to have been afraid of this new and unfamiliar sensation, but she wasn't. Instead, she desperately wanted it to continue, wanted to chase it to its conclusion, to know what lay at the end.

Her moans were becoming pitched and needy, and her legs kept trying to snap shut against her will. His hands were firm on her thighs, keeping them apart as he worked mercilessly; with a swirl and a flick of his tongue, the sensation abruptly changed, snapping like a whip through her body.

For a moment, she was suspended. It was like being on a ship again, the world unsteady underneath her. Rey hated ships, but oh, she did not hate this.

She distantly heard a quiet sob escape her throat as she shuddered, the pleasure of it washing through her like a wave, sunshine that rolled through her all the way down to the tips of her toes. But as she started to come down, she realized that he wasn't stopping. If anything, he had become more insistent, his movements sloppier and more erratic.

“Please,” she gasped out, pushing at his hair and wriggling against his cloak. “I can't--”

He was unmovable, anchored in place like a rock. When she forced herself up on shaking elbows and looked down in dismay, breath still short and mind still whirling with pleasure, his eyes opened to meet hers. The yellow tinge was brighter than ever, but his gaze was so filled with lust and satisfaction that her words died in her throat.

Somehow even though she couldn't even see his mouth- his clever, clever mouth- she knew he was smirking.

He flicked again and she _shook_ , whimpering, pulling fruitlessly against his hands. The feeling was building again, but it was too quick and too sharp and she wasn't sure if she could take it one more time, that she wouldn't shatter into a thousand pieces there on the forest floor.

“Please,” she said again, tangling her hand into his dark locks, no longer even sure of what it was that she was asking for. He dug his fingers tightly into her thighs and turned his head slightly to _suck_.

That wave of pleasure was on her again, but this time she wailed, the rush of it so intense that it was just on the very edge of painful. Her legs collided with his back as she arched off the ground, her whole body tensing as the sensation whip-cracked through her body once more, a fire that consumed from head to toe.

This time he released her and she fell back against the ground. She was boneless, weightless, unable to do anything but pant shallow, rasping breaths and stare through lidded eyes as he moved up the length of her body.

His chin was slick with her, she saw with a flush of embarrassment, as he wiped at it with the sleeve of his tunic. When he leaned over her to kiss her, she could taste herself on his lips, a strange and foreign tang.

He was unlacing his breeches, she realized, positioned between her spread legs. “Try to stay at ease,” he murmured, “and keep the strength from your body.”

As if she could do anything else, limp as she was.

But when she felt his arousal against her, her body sprang to life again, the aching in her hips building in pitch. She shifted her knees up, trying to give him more room, waving away the sudden little knot of anxiety that made itself known.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, kissing below her ear.

He pushed into her, slowly, and she immediately tensed when she felt the stretch of him, the sharp pain in her abdomen. “Oh…”

“Shh,” he coaxed, “be at ease.” He put his hand to her cheek and moved his kisses to her neck and collarbone, cold pecks that made the hair along her skin stand up.

She tried to obey, but it was difficult when he felt so _large_ , the intrusion hot and unyielding. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she felt- more than heard- his groan against her shoulder when their hips finally bumped together. This is how men and women were meant to fit, she reminded herself. This is as God intended, even if they were far from man and wife.

His voice shook slightly. “I’m going to do that again, when you are ready.”

She nodded tightly against his shoulder. There was no going back now.

It hurt less this time, and by the third or fourth stroke, Rey could feel an undercurrent of something else underneath it; the same sort of dizziness that he had coaxed from her before. She shifted a little, trying to feel more of that pleasure, and he lifted his head to look into her eyes. “Are you in pain still?”

“Some,” she said quietly, “but it is easing.”

He kissed her again, staying slow, and she lifted her legs to wrap them around his back, hooking her ankles tightly, sliding her hands down the back of his tunic.

“Rey,” he said, voice low, “so beautiful, so tight.”

The words felt indecent and she flushed a little, but his strokes were starting to truly feel good, less an intrusion and more of a coming together that was happening as it was meant to. One of his hands had moved to her breast, lightly massaging and pulling, and helped her to relax into the motion. The sound of their skin meeting was a sharp and discordant noise above the rustle of the wind through the trees, and it made her feel reckless and carefree all at once.

“Kylo,” she whispered back, touching her fingers to his face.

He seemed to like that, a groan emanating from his throat, his hips suddenly snapping forward to meet hers. It pressed on something that felt _good_ and she gasped, tensing. He immediately stopped, searching her face. “I did not mean to pain you--”

“No,” she managed, “no, please, do that again.”

He did, and she whispered his name again; they fell into a strange rhythm as she chanted it, losing herself in the heavy feeling of him above her, within her, around her, his name on her lips and his smell of earth and grass filling her with a heady longing. The sky was blue far above, clear and deep and beautiful as she cried out towards it, his pace increasing until they were one being rocking back and forth, as physically close as two people could ever be.

Knowing this feeling, this pleasure, made her question why she ever thought that she could go her whole life without becoming a wife. No wonder that some women had a dozen children.

He was moving faster now, but it just heightened that feeling deep in her hips, making her cling to him tightly and press her face to his broad shoulder.

“Rey,” he mumbled, his strokes now so hard that she felt pressed into the ground by his weight, each thrust forcing a breathy cry from her throat, “sweet Rey, you feel so good--”

He tensed and she felt his arms shake, a final thrust pushing so hard that she nearly slid along the ground, a raspy groan rumbling from his throat as he shivered over her. As he panted, she felt the strange sensation of a warm stickiness between her thighs; a curious sense of satisfaction purred in her chest.

Pushing off her, he tenderly rearranged her skirts, smoothing them down with an almost reverent air. With a sigh, he slid onto the ground next to her, pulling her head onto his chest. She wanted to sleep in the dappled sun for a year, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his fingers absentmindedly playing with her hair.

They lay on his cloak until the sun dipped low in the sky, the stars beginning to wink far above.

"I have to go,” she whispered, “or I will be missed.”

“Then go,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But know that I hope to see you again.”

\---

The mist was thick that morning, curling around her ankles as she relied on her memory to walk towards Carterhaugh.

When she reached their clearing, it was empty. She settled down and waited, but he did not appear.

She was bewildered until she remembered the debt. Of course. She flushed a little to remember it, but the debt had clearly been paid; perhaps he was bound by some sort of Fey law and could not appear without it.

So she went back to the lake and found the rose bush, its lush blooms as beautiful as she remembered. She clipped a flower off expectantly, beaming as she looked around.

But no one came.

Frowning and feeling an uncomfortable tightness beginning to build in her throat, she clipped another. And another. And another.

Nothing.

She had almost cleared the whole rosebush before she accepted that he wasn't coming to her, his presence vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Sinking against the ground, surrounded by slowly wilting flowers, she felt an ache spread through her whole body until she finally dropped her head and wept.

The sound of her sobs echoed through Carterhaugh, with no one to hear her but the birds nesting in the trees far above.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fey lovers know their SHIT. And are also kind of _enormous_ dickholes. Don't come at me with your pitchforks! It all comes out right in the end!
> 
> Medieval women’s underwear is one of those great mysteries. I decided to go with the theory that it was some version of men’s underclothes, which were like long shorts. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> There are many versions of the Tam Lin story that [**pretty unambiguously portray Janet not giving/not being able to give consent**](http://tam-lin.org/analysis/Tam_Lin_and_rape.html). I did not want to write that story. There are also many versions that imply that she absolutely knew what she was getting into, so it is inconsistent. I settled on giving them a shared experience and a chance to get to know each other a bit, which is obviously not in any of the versions, but that's why this is an adaptation. :) 
> 
> There are some great musical versions of Tam Lin out there! I have always adored the version by [**Anais Mitchell and Jefferson Hamer**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c3yTEUnyYDA). Zenobia recommended the [**Fairport Convention**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jy3ihk205ew) version in the comments of the last chapter. Elwyngirlie also recommended a [**version by the Decemberists**](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL53B5376C171597FF). Options abound! 
> 
> Lastly, I also want to share with you all that part of this was written on my phone, and at one point “his fingers kept exploring” autocorrected to “his fingers kept exploding” and I had to actually put the fic down and do something else for a bit because I couldn't stop laughing.
> 
> Kudos make me beam and comments make me dance. Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Rey felt like a ghost in the castle, floating back and forth in the corridors. She had returned to Carterhaugh several times, but Kylo Ren had never appeared again, gone as quickly and completely as the morning mist.

She might have thought the encounter an extended dream, had her courses not stopped.

The realization had taken some time to dawn. But when her Friday fish made her stomach lurch one too many times, Rey finally put two and two together.

It was several months before Master Luke returned, victorious and tired. The castle filled with people as he arrived, men at arms flooding the courtyard and neighbouring gentlemen bringing their guests to celebrate. The great hall was filled with drinking and games of chess, the solar alive with gossip and needlework. And Rey wandered numbly amongst it all, her face as pale as milk, her waist beginning to gently swell.

Late one night, Master Luke folded her arm into his and accompanied her for a walk on the walls. Standing in the light of the moon, he turned to her with grave eyes. “Rey,” he said, “I think of you as a daughter, so I must ask… Are you with child?”

She closed her eyes and let her head fall in a long nod.

He sighed and gave her hand a reassuring pat. “Is he among my gentlemen, or the servants? Who shall give the babe his name? I can assure you a dower--”

Rey felt her spine stiffen, those years of fending for herself rearing their head. “There’s none among this castle that I would treat so well, Master Luke. I’m afraid that if I am with child, I must bear the blame myself.”

She pulled away and walked to her rooms as quickly as she could, feeling a sense of determination gradually taking root, a fledgling thing nursed by her shame and fear. For too long, she had let herself sit in tears. That time was past.

The next day, when Jessika came, Rey squared her shoulders. “Jessika,” she said calmly, trying to keep her voice light. “Should a woman fall with unwanted child, is there a remedy in these parts?” She had known of women in Jerusalem, of course, who knew what to do- what herbs to seek out. But in this foreign place, she was without her usual advantages.

Jessika was silent for a long while. “Well,” she finally said, resuming her combing as usual, “should that happen, there is an herb that flourishes near ponds and streams in damp soil. The stems grow to roughly a foot, and it has oval, grey-green leaves that feel downy to the touch.” She gave the details carefully, slowly, as though she were trying to give Rey a chance to memorize them. “If such an herb were found, I know of a woman who would be able to make a tea. And should it be drunk by a woman with child, she would not be with child for long.” She coiled the last of Rey’s hair and stepped back.  

“Thank you,” Rey said simply. She turned and met Jessika’s eyes, giving her a slow nod.

Jessika nodded back, sympathy in her eyes. “My lady.”

\---

It was more difficult to leave the castle now that it was so full of people, but not impossible. Rey sneaked out before the noonday meal, dodging guards and serving boys.

Her feet traced the familiar steps back to Carterhaugh, to the lake that she had first dipped her feet in on that warm afternoon. Stems of a foot. Oval, grey-green leaves. Downy to the touch.

She would not have a bastard. She had come too far and endured too much to let that happen. It pained her; being alone for so many years had made her long for her own family, a child all her own to love and hold.

But not like this.

When she reached the lake, she found that the herb grew plentifully. Treading carefully in the mud, she withdrew her knife and clipped several of the stems. Jessika had not specified how much would be necessary, so she moved along the bank, not wanting to make a second journey to this painful place.

As she reached for a third stem, a hand grabbed at her wrist. When she jerked up in shock, she looked into yellow eyes- eyes in a form that had appeared as silently as he had first arrived, as silently as he had then disappeared.

“Take no more,” he said, reaching for the herbs held in her hand. His tone was insistent, confused, hurt. “Why do you pull this poison? What makes you harm the babe we got together?”

She yanked backwards, finally pulling herself free. “I will pull as I wish, Kylo Ren. I’ll not bear this child- if he were to a gentleman, I’d bear him and rock him all the winter’s night. But I will not have the shame of a bastard.”

He held out his hands, supplicating. “If it’s a gentleman you wish, I can be a gentleman.”

“You’re a wild shade. You cannot be a husband.”

He closed his eyes, hunching his shoulders in on himself. For a moment he looked not like a powerful and mysterious being, but a man, and a rather young and uncertain one at that. “I am under a curse,” he finally said. “I was a man once, long ago, but I was foolish and fell under the sway of the Faerie King.”

Rey waited, heart in her throat.

“In a week’s time, I am to be paid as a tithe to hell. I was promised power, but…” he trailed off, looking ashamed.

She closed her eyes and put her hands to her face. “I don’t understand. What is this to me and my child?”

“There is a way to break the curse,” he said softly, “but it is dangerous. And should you fail, you would be sacrificed to the Fey, and I do not wish that.”

“But if I succeed?”

“I would be man once more, and you will love your child.”

\---

On Halloween night, Rey pulled on her kirtle and wrapped a scarf over her hair. In the witching hour, holding a lantern, she walked through the kitchens and out of the keep with a steady and determined step.

She went down the lane for miles. At long last, with the moon high above, she came to Miles Cross; a meeting of roads marked with a single post.

The Fey would expect her to be afraid.

Many years ago, she had fought off a deadly snake with only a stick. One evening, faint with hunger, she had overpowered a wild dog for the waste of a meal thrown out of a window. When her limbs were about to give out, when her body was sore, when she had thought there was no more dignity left for her to lose, she had persevered. She had endured.

She would have her child.

Withdrawing a vial of water blessed by Master Luke, she walked slowly around, sprinkling drops until she had encircled all of the crossroad. Extinguishing her lamp, she then slid down behind a hedge and waited.

Rey felt their arrival like a ripple in the air, a gust that crested in her very blood. The world became quiet, all sounds fallen away in a silence so complete that it roared. The wind was still. Her own breathing sounded ragged and loud in her ears, surely so loud that she would be found immediately.

The first horse was black, ridden by a creature that bore no resemblance to a man. His skin was mottled grey and his head domed and scarred, his eyes shrunken pits in his skull. His hands held the reins from under a black cloak, the fabric like nothing she had ever seen. It seemed to move with its own volition, to ripple back and forth without any wind. Rey shook as he rode by, exuding an air full of evil like nothing she had ever felt before.

The next horse was a chestnut brown, ridden by a man with skin so white that he nearly glowed, moon reflected in his shock of red hair. Rey looked past him quickly, wanting to see only one thing.

And there it was.

A white mare with a glistening mane. A man rode astride it in a hooded mantle, his features shrouded in shadow. Rey looked to his hands; just as Kylo Ren had said, there was one gloved hand clutching the reins and one bare hand set on his knee.

Heart in her throat, she bound her kirtle between her legs and crouched, ready.

The procession moved with agonizing slowness, the movement of the horses in no way matching the amount of progress they made. But when the white horse finally reached her, she cleared the hedge and _sprinted_ , her earlier life holding her in good stead.

Quick as a lightning flash, she grabbed the figure by the arm and dragged him off of his horse, her knees nearly buckling under his weight. His hood came loose as he fell, revealing Kylo Ren, just as he had promised.

He managed one wide-eyed glance at her before he touched the ground. The moment he did, an agonized choke left his lips, his body gripped in a terrible writhing movement that nearly jerked him free from her hands.

There was a terrible hiss, a sound that rattled Rey to her bones. Glancing up, she saw the terrifying creature lifting an arm towards them; the ground lurched beneath them in a shudder.

_“When the time comes, I will turn in your arms”_

Something scaly was under her palms. Closing her eyes, she gripped it tightly as it thrashed, ignoring every instinct that she had ever had. She dared not open her eyes; the sight of the snake might have been too much, too familiar a fear from her childhood.

As it writhed, she wriggled backwards, trying to make it towards the edge of her holy circle.

_“But hold me tight and fear me not, remember that I am your own true love.”_

There was another hiss and she was wrestling with a creature that she had never seen before, with grey matted hair and terrible teeth. It looked like a dog but it was much too big, its eyes too fierce and wild. It had claws that dug into her arms, so she gave it a solid kick as she pulled it into a headlock, grunting in satisfaction when it made a whimpering noise in response.

Just a little farther.

_“Hold me tight and fear me not, and I will be your husband dear.”_

With a final hiss, she was holding a burning ember, the fire scalding in her hands. She could smell her own flesh burning as she threw herself the last few feet, the agonizing heat making her want to drop it- God’s teeth, it hurt, it hurt so much, and she wanted to let go more than she had ever wanted to let go of anything before in her life--

_“Hold me tight and fear me not, and you will love your child.”_

She cleared the boundary at a roll and there was a deafening _crack_ , the pain eased in a moment. Kylo Ren was in her arms, naked as the day he was born, shivering and wild-eyed. She pulled off her mantle and quickly wrapped him in it, his shoulders comically too large for her cloak.

“Kylo Ren,” the creature spoke. Even knowing that they were now beyond his power, Rey shuddered and resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears. The sound was like every horrible thing that she had ever known rolled into one: the roar of a sandstorm, the screams of women in childbirth, the crack of thunder at sea.

Kylo raised his weary head and looked towards the figure.

“Had I known what I see now,” it continued, “I would have taken out your eyes and replaced them with stone.”

“I am free now,” Kylo croaked. “I see what my foolish eyes could not when I was young.”

“You were my most treasured,” the creature said. “My most beloved.”

Kylo’s hand tightened on hers. “A curse,” he said. “Not a gift.”

There was a moment of silence before the creature turned on his horse, stately and slow. The procession continued as they watched, gradually moving beyond the crossroads, a stream of hooded and inhuman figures.

And then, abruptly, they were gone.

Sound returned to the air, the tentative beginnings of morning birdsong and the rustle of grass in the wind. He was shaking, she realized, trembling from the cold. 

She stood and returned to her hiding place. Pulling out her lantern, she walked to him with the bundle of clothes that she had brought, things that she had stolen from Master Luke. “They will probably be too small,” she said, putting them into his hands. “But I thought it better than returning with you as bare as Adam in the garden.”

He looked down at himself and back up at her. His eyes were brown now, she saw, a dark and rich colour. “Yes,” he agreed gravely. “Not the correct way to earn your hand, I think.” He tugged on the tunic and breeches, the fabric stretching a little awkwardly on his frame but covering him well enough.

The horizon was now tinged with gold and pink, the wind sweet and clear as the new day.

Hand in hand, they set out, back towards to the castle and whatever awaited them there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Friday fish” is a reference to the Roman Catholic practice of abstaining from meat on Fridays. 
> 
> The herb that Jessika speaks of is Pennyroyal, known in medieval Europe as an abortifacient. It could also easily kill you. It was… An imprecise art. 
> 
> KING of the Faeries instead of QUEEN because of SNOKE. I am so TERRIBLY, TERRIBLY CLEVER. 
> 
> I always felt that the ballad ended rather abruptly and decided that I didn’t want the fic to be the same. So I’ve added another chapter; an epilogue will be forthcoming with fluffy floofs of Reylo babiiiiiiies! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° And maybe a wedding night? IDK. 
> 
> I’m on Tumblr, by the by: [**PoetHrotsvitha**](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poethrotsvitha).


	4. Chapter 4

He had been so foolish back then.

He had vague memories of a life lived without difficulty, of a hunting party, of falling from his horse. When he awoke, the world was a changed place and a lone figure stood before him.

“You seek power,” it said, with a thousand voices at once.

He felt bound to the ground, his limbs locked in place. “I want for nothing.”

“Ah, but I see how you live in the shadow of your father. How you feel the neglect from your mother. How you want nothing more than to leave your mark on this world.”

There were no words for that. It was the worst perspective on the truth, and it was horribly compelling. 

“I can give you those things. I can give you power beyond your understanding.”

Fool that he was, he accepted the hand outstretched towards him.

And then he had power. Power beyond imagining in the mortal realm, command of a thousand wraiths. But it was an empty promise; he was between worlds, neither here nor there, and you cannot leave a mark on a place that you do not inhabit. Years passed. He felt everything and indulged every passion but grew hollow as a rotten tree. He almost began to long for his sacrifice to hell and the release that it represented. But others were chosen, time after time, so he stayed the same. And same he might have stayed forever, had he not met her.

He felt the disturbance of her almost immediately, a ripple in the other realm. When he went to investigate, it was like being knocked off his feet. Her mind was like nothing that he had ever felt before, her experiences unique. She was full of curiosity and passion, her spirit a fierce and unbowed thing. It took his breath away.

The law technically dictated that the debt be paid as soon as possible. But he stretched the limits of it, used years of reserves of power to have more visits, more chances to watch her flourish. It was almost enough to make him want to put off the bedding indefinitely.

Almost. Even as a half-man, he did have urges, and she was painfully beautiful.

He felt her dismay when she returned and he was gone. It wounded him, but the King was watchful, having noticed his small transgressions. It was difficult enough to stretch the contract; to return without one would be foolhardy.

She was probably better off without him in any case.

But then she had come back to pull that _poison_ , her intentions so clear and determined that he had felt them straightaway. The boundaries between worlds were thin then, much thinner for the nearness of Halloween, and he threw caution to the wind in his panic.

In front of her determination, it felt a shameful thing to be cowardly.

So when she said she would save him, he believed her.

\---

They spoke little as she led him back to the castle. When they entered the gatehouse, they encountered a wave of curiosity almost immediately, shocked glances taking in his strange form. But she pushed ahead, into the keep and up to the great hall, seemingly looking for someone specific. No doubt the guardian that she had mentioned.

Not that he could confirm that as he could have before. It was strange to only have his own thoughts in his head once more, after so many years of sharing that space. Oddly peaceful.  

“Master Luke,” she called out, suddenly breaking out into a run that he had to half-skip to keep up with. A grizzled man with worn skin and a grey beard turned at her call. “You asked who would give the babe its name- I have brought him here.”

Her guardian was immediately wary. As well he should be. Kylo was suddenly acutely aware of the clothes that didn’t fit him, the cloak that belonged to her, his bare feet. He should be arriving to ask for her hand with a retinue and piles of gifts that she deserved, jewels and furs. Not just himself.

Unsure about what to do, he offered a quick bow.

Rey beamed back and forth between them.

Master Luke seemed to be holding back a sigh. “May I know your name?”

“Kylo Ren.”

“Not a name I recognize.”

“I have… Been gone for quite some time.”

Master Luke narrowed his eyes. “How long?”

He wasn’t exactly sure. “Near a hundred years.”

The silence in the hall was complete at that. Master Luke, to his credit, recovered first. “Are you a man of any means?”

“I was once. Roxbrugh was my ancestral home. I do not know if it still stands.”

Another silence. “As it happens,” Master Luke finally said, “I recently cleared what remains of Roxbrugh of raiders. The King has promised me recompense for my efforts; I will request that the title be passed to you.” He looked to Rey. “My beloved daughter deserves no less.”

It was galling to accept this man’s help, clearly grudging as it was. But he looked at Rey, who was beaming, delighted with this turn of events. He stamped his pride down. “Thank you.”

\---

The wedding was small, held only in front of her guardian. She wore green and wound flowers in her hair again. He found a tunic that actually fit. They said their vows and he gave her a ring, one quickly made of iron by the castle’s blacksmith.

Her guardian set aside a room for them, a space while Roxbrugh was being refurbished. When the servants withdrew, he saw that she was twisting her hands together, shoulders tense. Her hair was loose, draped over her shoulder, and it almost looked like she was trying to hide behind it. When he took her face in his hands, she met his eyes but bit her lip, looking nervous.

“Why are you shy?” She had no need to be.

“I am…” she shifted a little, “larger than when we last met.” Her hands protectively wrapped around the curve of her stomach, as if trying to press it back into shape.

But that made no sense. He moved her hands aside and replaced them with his own, trying to be gentle, reassuring. “You are more beautiful for it.”

And there was that blush, spreading all the way from her cheeks to her chest, under her nightdress. He wanted to see the rest of it. The blush became deeper as he worked the laces open, stripping her down until she was shivering in front of the fire, her body a vision of curves.

He frowned and went to reach for the furs on the bed. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she said quietly. When he cocked his head, she bit her lip again. “Excited.”

Dropping the blankets, he moved to kiss her but she pressed her hands against his chest. “Your turn, now. I didn’t get to see any of you last time.”

Obediently shuffling out of his nightshirt, he was pleased to see her shyness recede as her eyes roved over him.

“Husband,” she said quietly.

“Wife,” he agreed.

They moved to the bed and he resumed his exploration; he was vaguely worried about her condition, not certain about what might harm the babe. He was about to move down her front when she surprised him by pushing him over onto his back, straddling him and pressing a kiss onto his lips.

“You,” she started, “you awoke things in me that I didn’t know I could feel.”

Her hands gripped his length and words were suddenly very difficult. “I- I did?”

“After you disappeared, I had to make do with my own hands.”

God’s bones. “You- what?”

“You made me bold,” she whispered. She was watching him closely as she moved her hands, seemingly trying to work out what felt good for him. Had he been able to speak, he would’ve explained that basically anything she did felt good. “I would never have dared before, but I had to try and feel that again.”

He managed a groan.

“Does it excite you to know that?”

He nodded so fast that his neck almost hurt at the strain. There had been a fair share of maids in Carterhaugh- he had just taken gifts or dresses from most, but there had been some beddings. But maids, by their nature, were usually shy. They’d never climbed onto him and looked at him with such a wicked grin as Rey was currently doing. It was intoxicating.

She settled on stroking, which he decided was absolutely excellent. “I used my fingers late at night, in my bed, but it never felt like you. I thought of you as I did so, desperate to feel you inside me again.”

He was desperate too, now. When he reached out, he ran his fingers up her leg to find that she was wet and ready, somehow faster than should have been possible. She smiled a little more when he groaned again

“I longed for you,” she whispered, positioning herself so that she rubbed against him, small movements that made his hips move of their own accord. “No release was as beautiful as the one you gave me.”

“Please,” he managed, barely a croak.

Her cry was glorious as she pushed down onto him, her fingers curling against his chest. She was tight and wet and hot and he could hardly believe- even looking at the ring on her hand, it still seemed impossible- that she was his to keep.

“Kylo,” she moaned, rocking back and forth, strong legs pushing against him. He desperately wanted to buck against her, but he controlled himself, moving a hand down her front and looking for that small place where she derived her pleasure. He knew he had found it when she suddenly clenched around him, twisting, clapping her hands to her mouth. “Oh!”

His wife. His Rey. His beautiful Rey. “Is it as good as you hoped?” he asked, pressing in small circles as she writhed above him. “Am I as good as your imaginings?”

“Better,” she gasped, almost a sob. “Oh, so much better.”

When she reached her peak, keening and shaking, his control slid away. Holding her slightly aloft, careful to press his hands to her ribs rather than putting pressure on her waist, he pushed upwards, over and over and over until he felt the beginnings of his own release, blinding and perfect and made more intense by her satisfied gaze.

She leaned down and wrapped her arms around him as he shuddered into her, kissing him deeply and swallowing his moans. Yes, it was far better to be fully man, to fully feel the love of a woman.

\---

“My lord, a son!”

The squire burst through the door of the great hall of Roxbrugh, calling out the news. Kylo was sitting at the head table, bouncing his bonny wee Catriona on his knee, her small sticky fingers making quick work of a honey iced bun. A nursemaid stood by with Ailsa on her hip, trying to coax the young one to eat a little bit of soft apple. Both of them had been anxious for hours, listening to their mother’s cries. Almost as anxious as he had been.

He quickly passed Catriona to a standing servant, breaking out at a sprint down the hall. Men at arms leapt out of the way as he barreled by them, no doubt smiling at each other after he passed.

When he threw her door open, relief coursed through his bones to see that she was smiling, holding the babe close to her breast. She looked tired, but well. Thank the blessed Lord above and His whole host of heavenly angels.

He went to her side and perched on the bed, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Well done, my love. As always.”

She smiled and leaned into his hand. “Are the girls well?”

“Ailsa is restless. Catriona has eaten most of the iced buns in the county.”

That coaxed a laugh. God, how he’d missed that in her confinement. He’d taken to sneaking in when the servants were asleep, giving her kisses as she laughed at him, lord of the manor, too scared to take the midwife on directly. “She has my appetite,” Rey murmured. “Would you like to hold him?”

He leaned over and took the small bundle, noting the thatch of dark hair. “He looks strong.”

“Like his Father. A son at last.”

For some reason, that comment stung. “I would’ve been just as pleased with another daughter.”

She seemed to like that. “I know.”

Running his hand along the soft skin of his son’s face, he marvelled at the perfection of a creature so small and so fully formed. “I’ve had another crib made lined with iron.”

Her face darkened. “You still worry that they would come for one of them?”

“I’ll never stop worrying.” He put his son back in Rey’s arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But we can make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“Why do they want children?”

He took her hand with a firm grip. “To have children is a very human thing, and they envy it.” It was such a sign of undiluted life. “As they should.”

Rey grinned at him. “But they’re such messy things.”

“It’s how life should be.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you as well.” She shifted lightly. “I hope I recover soon.”

He shot her a goggle-eyed look. “Surely you can’t be thinking of another babe already?”

Throwing her head back, she laughed out loud before she grimaced. “Perhaps not immediately.” She closed her eyes and leaned back into the pillows. “But they’ll never be lonely, will they? Not like I was. Or like you were.”

The windows had finally been opened and the cloths taken down in preparation for her churching; the light streamed in the room and made the space glow again, filled with fresh air and promise. She looked exhausted. But somehow, in that moment, he was reminded of the fierce creature who insisted to him that she would come and go as she pleased. That there were many roses, and that she would never ask leave of anyone. For anything.

“Never,” he agreed. “Never.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyy Kylo loves pregnant Rey. Cuties. <3 
> 
> Medieval marriages did not have to be conducted in front of a priest or at a church. [ **It was literally only necessary for both sides to provide their consent.**](http://www.historyextra.com/article/feature/love-and-marriage-medieval-england-customs-vows-ceremony)
> 
> Confinement in pregnancy involved withdrawing to a quiet space during the last few months, usually in a room with fabric draped over the windows and no fresh air allowed. In theory, this was to stop the mother from catching any illnesses or getting too excitable and endangering the baby. Men were also forbidden. It kind of sounds like the worst? Maybe that’s just me. 
> 
> Churching, in contrast, was the ceremony where the mother returned to public life. 
> 
> Iron around a crib is a traditional folk practice for keeping faeries away from babies and preventing changelings. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this little drabble of mine. Especial thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments, they make me so happy! -blows piles of kisses-


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